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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29838600">el mitad del océano</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocinan/pseuds/Rocinan'>Rocinan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brotherly Angst, Dehydration, Family Bonding, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Platonic Relationships, but it's more like Hubris/Common Sense, just another story about the hermanos bonding, slight crack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:01:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,995</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29838600</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocinan/pseuds/Rocinan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermanitos in the middle of the ocean. Or, Sergio and Andrés try to survive in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but each other and 3 centimetres of fresh water.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa &amp; Professor | Sergio Marquina</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>el mitad del océano</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have no explanation for this. None. I don't know if this is an AU or if it's canon compliant, and I have no context whatsoever for this. This was inspired by that IG post Pedro and Alvaro made about "hermanitos en el mitad del oceano" and a convo I had with the enlightened Nharidy about Andrés being dumb enough to die over 3cm of water.</p><p>That said, I hope you enjoy this and that it's worth reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sergio awoke with a groan, salt on his lips and something stinging in his throat. The sun blinded him. A ball of fire in the sky, his eyes, his skin. It burned. And he wasn’t quite sure if it was this infernal body that was on fire or if it was an effect of the rapidly swelling bump on the back of his head. As if a drill had been pressed to his skull. </p><p>Slowly, the sensations returned to him, starting from the wood beneath his back and the sweat under his shirt. Sluggish, his limbs tried to move, a graceless lack of direction as he squirmed. And little by little, he began to understand- remember- where he was. A rowboat above rocky waves, an excellent explanation for the nausea in his stomach.</p><p>Endless blue stretched above. And below. Water and sky without a trace of cloud or land. Nothing save the sound of ocean and something buzzing by his ear.</p><p>It was only when he felt plastic press to his lips that he recognized the buzz as a voice, calm, almost lilting, as cool liquid slipped down his throat. When he next blinked, Sergio found his head in the crook of an arm, fingers brushing stiff hair from his brow.</p><p>Those fingers were most certainly not his. But he recognized them, just as he became aware of the voice in his ear-- low, airy, and sparked with insufferable confidence. It was unmistakably Andrés.</p><p>“Hermanito, careful, careful-”</p><p>Sergio swallowed the rest of the water, just as Andrés moved the bottle away from his mouth. Andrés was a blur of colors and shapes, and Sergio could only assume he was capping the battered plastic in his hands. Evidently, Sergio was missing his glasses. </p><p>When Andrés returned, he was much closer, enough for Sergio to make out his features, that slanted grin most of all.</p><p>“How are you feeling?” Andrés asked, as if their situation was no concern at all.</p><p>Briefly, Sergio wished he was right. Perhaps it had only been a badly timed nap and they were back in a hotel by the shore, preparing for Andrés’ next disastrous wedding. </p><p><em> “What do you think?” </em>Sergio found himself sniping back, his tongue as thick as his words.</p><p>Speaking in itself was agony.</p><p>Andrés chuckled. He said something about manners, again looping it all into some grand joke. Sergio failed to find the humor. But he did not fail to detect the scrape in his brother’s voice, that laugh not unlike coarse sandpaper. Andrés- in his later years- had always spoken with a rasp in his throat, even on the wettest of days. At present, he sounded positively <em> dry </em> to Sergio, like a rustle of weeds in the desert.</p><p>But they were at sea. Endless sea. And not a drop of it could be consumed. They would end up with mouthfuls of salt at best. Tokyo’s voice sounded in Sergio’s head then: <em> fuck. </em> Aptly followed by another man’s <em> la concha de tu madre. </em> Both were accurate to Sergio’s assessment of their circumstances.</p><p>“Where are we?” he said, nearly choking out the words.</p><p>Andrés rubbed a thumb of the cap of their water bottle. “The Atlantic, most likely.”</p><p>Sergio could not for the life of him, remember how they ended up in the middle of the ocean, but his brain told him that knowledge was best left unchecked for the time being. His head throbbed enough as it was.</p><p>“Now, now, don’t look so dejected, Sergio.” Andrés pressed the bottle to Sergio’s face, still flashing that smile. “In times like these, you need to focus on the brighter side.”</p><p>“What brighter side?” Sergio nearly growled back.</p><p>His brother gestured at the damned sky, the blue painful to look upon. “We’re here on open water, the wind and sun for company. Feel the light on your face, hermanito, the salt in the air. This is what the naturalists wrote about, no? The essence of rebirth, of cutting from the roots and returning to the start.”</p><p>On another day, Sergio would have rolled his eyes and chuckled. Perhaps he could even form an argument in return, some light mockery to pass the time. </p><p>He only had the strength to say, “Fuck you.”</p><p>Andrés laughed. “You were never this rude to me as a child, Sergio. I wonder where you picked up these habits.”</p><p>Sergio rolled onto his side, body somewhat more cooperative. He grabbed the side of the boat, wood scorching beneath his palms, and pushed himself up. His legs remained dead weight, and half sitting, half splayed, he dragged his eyes over the ocean, so blue that not even a reflection of himself showed.</p><p>“Andrés,” he mumbled, “how long- how long was I out?”</p><p>He could not see Andrés’ expression. He assumed it was pensive, or more likely, amused. Andrés delighted in the unpredicted. Sergio did not.</p><p>“Since twilight. And it’s oh, noon now?”</p><p>Sergio shut his eyes, the sun somehow shining through his eyelids. ”I remember now. We were here yesterday as well. No- that means- it will be two days by the time the sun sets.”</p><p>When he opened then, he lifted his wrist, squinting at the watch strapped around. The needle still moved, and he could only assume water hadn’t yet ruined the clockwork.</p><p>“It’s almost evening,” Sergio said. </p><p>Andrés shrugged. “There’s no use worrying, hermanito. Time is out of our hands, isn’t it?”</p><p>Sergio wished to tell him not to say such useless things, but he chose to conserve that strength. Instead, he said, “The bottle. Let me see it.”</p><p>Andrés held it up, the plastic glowing in the light. Gently, Sergio took it from him. To his dismay, there was little water left, the amount as high as the distance between a pinch of thumb and forefinger.</p><p>“This is the only water we have?” he asked.</p><p>“Not if you count the Atlantic.”</p><p>“Now’s not the time for jokes.”</p><p>“I’m not joking.” But his grin told Sergio otherwise.</p><p>Out of habit, Sergio touched the bridge of his nose, no spectacles to be found. “We’ll have to drink sparingly. With our height, our weight, we’ll live for three, four days at most before dehydration destroys us.”</p><p>Andrés eased himself on the opposite end of their boat, an elbow on the edge and a hand on his head. Sergio’s words seemed to have no effect. He still acted as if he was on a yacht instead.</p><p>“Don’t worry, hermanito.” He smiled again, a shark. “I won’t let you die.”</p><hr/><p>Sergio could not remember when he’d last passed out. He recalled the conversation with Andrés and the sun beaming on the needles of his watch. The taste of bile told him he’d retched into the ocean. Whatever happened next, his mind had blocked out.</p><p>Perhaps because he’d blacked out.</p><p>Because he next awoke to a sky of stars, sharp and bright in the dark. And again, he felt Andrés cupping the bottle to his mouth.</p><p>As he drank, he heard Andrés wax poetic about the stars. </p><p>“Look at them, hermanito,” he said, and Sergio imagined his eyes sparkling, “effervescent, eternal. Immortal. How little we are in comparison.”</p><p>Then he chuckled. “Do you remember what we used to do? Go out to the rooftop and admire the stars. You kept a book of constellations in that journal, the one with the black cover.”</p><p>Sergio had forgotten about that. But the dull memories were returning. The book had been a gift from Andrés, for his fourteenth, no, thirteenth birthday. Andrés had made him search for the gift in a scavenger hunt that Sergio deemed frustratingly easy.</p><p>In spite of himself, Sergio smiled.</p><p>Andrés capped the bottle again, and with a touch of gravity, said, “Your head. How is it?”</p><p>The bump still throbbed throughout his skull. “Bearable.”</p><p>When his eyes slipped shut once more, Sergio felt Andrés’ hand slip into his, a tight squeeze around his palm.</p><hr/><p>The sun was infuriatingly bright again when Sergio awoke. In his head, he recounted the hours he was aware of. If Andrés’ words were to be believed, they had been adrift for two days and the third was upon them.</p><p>He was not sure if it had been a fever-induced dream or if Andrés had truly helped him relieve himself into the ocean, but he did not wish to find out. His limbs were lighter and the ache in his head had grown more tolerable, perhaps because he’d become accustomed to it. Hunger gnawed at him, but not as much as the thirst in his parched throat.</p><p>His lips were sore, and he was grateful for the lack of mirrors. He could not see how Andrés appeared, but he was sure that neither of them were presentable. Their only hope, it seemed, was waiting for the luck of a ship to sail by. </p><p>“It’s not so different from the beach, really,” Andrés told him, again looking at the ocean with a spiteful fondness, “I wouldn’t mind dying here in the sunlight.”</p><p><em> “Well, I do,” </em> Sergio said. “We’re not dying here.”</p><p>He did not want to argue. </p><p>“Optimism, it’s a good look on you, Sergio.”</p><p>Ignoring his laugh, Sergio demanded he pass the water. Then he held it up to the light. The bottle had not depleted as much as he’d assumed. That was a good sign, he supposed, and yet-</p><p>He measured what they had left: three centimeters, more or less.</p><p>“This will last us one more day, at most,” he concluded, “unless it rains. Andrés, is there an oar? We have to move.”</p><p>Andrés was silent. Then he said, “No, there isn’t. Not unless you break off a piece of wood but that’s easier said than done.”</p><p>“I’ll figure it out,” Sergio answered, more for himself than Andrés.</p><p>“I’m sure you will.”</p><p>And slipping back down, Sergio said, “I’m serious,” eyes shutting against the sun. He would rest first. Yes. Then he would get them out. He always did.</p><p>“So am I,” he heard Andrés say, followed by a raspy chuckle.</p><hr/><p>When the sun went down, Sergio was too tired to rise. But he welcomed the plastic against his mouth, Andrés again tipping water down his tongue. </p><hr/><p>The sun remained a fixture in the sky. Sergio awoke to its sweltering heat. And again fighting the ache in his head and the crack in his throat, he forced himself up. He took a moment to steady his breaths. He glanced at his watch first, then at the world at large. Still no sign of help.</p><p>He sighed, folding a hand over his eyes. Their fourth day adrift. He doubted it would rain soon. In that case, he had no choice but to tear a plank from the boat with his bare hands. Whether or not it would work was another matter, but they were out of options.</p><p>When he looked to Andrés, he found his brother dozing away on the opposite end, head against shoulder and arms lightly crossed.</p><p>“Andrés,” he said, “we have to create an oar.”</p><p>The waves drowned out his voice. And Andrés remained asleep. With a huff, Sergio made his way over, crawling on wobbly knees until he reached the other man. He tapped Andrés on the face.</p><p>“Andrés, wake up.”</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Sergio frowned, a bubbling discomfort in his chest. He inched closer, gazing at his brother’s face. The tip of his nose was red, singed by sun. A smudge of blood sat on his lip, his mouth pursed into a smile and as chapped as Sergio’s own. He was breathing, but the skin was warm, more so than Sergio remembered.</p><p>And as he remembered, his mind wandered to the day before. Then Sergio’s breath stopped, every piece of himself locked in place.</p><p>He looked to the bottle by Andrés’ side and swiping it into his hands, he held it up. Three centimeters, now two. One lost to the night before. Trembling, he unscrewed the cap, a shock of horror rousing through his veins as he came to the realization that-</p><p>Andrés had not drank from the bottle at all.</p><p>Sergio’s own words surfaced- <em> we’ll live for three, four days at most before dehydration destroys us. </em>It had already been three days, perhaps four, since they ended up afloat. </p><p>Vision blurred, Sergio pressed the bottle to Andrés’ mouth. </p><p><em> “Fuck, Andrés!” </em> he hissed, “why would you be so stupid!?”</p><p>He watched the drop slip down. Andrés squirmed then, to his shock, wriggling his head away from the bottle. </p><p>“Drink it, fuck!” he ordered, but Andrés seemed determined not to comply. Sergio smacked him. “I’m stronger than you, younger than you! <em> Healthier! </em> What possessed you to do that!?”</p><p>And screaming that phrase, Sergio pinned him down, forcing the last centimeter of water in. Then he tossed the bottle aside, and swallowing the obscenities back, collapsed over Andrés. The tears came out, hot and shameless, as he moved Andrés into his arms, his brother limp against his maneuvers. </p><p>“You’re not going to die,” he said, stumbling over each word, a haze of tears and sweat, “do you understand? Andrés, I won’t let you die.”</p><p>He repeated those words to Andrés, to himself, again and again until his voice finally gave out. </p><hr/><p>When the sun disappeared, Sergio was sure night had fallen. He lost track of how long he’d stayed huddled in the middle of the boat, holding- cradling- Andrés to his chest, nothing in his mind save the refusal to let his brother die.</p><p>He lifted his head then. It was still daylight. But they were in the shadow of a ship, a giant of steel that Sergio could certainly not have imagined. He blinked away the spots from his eyes, for fear that it would transform into a whale if he looked away.</p><p>No, it was real. And it was sailing by.</p><p>Heart pounding, he clutched Andrés tight, and cried out. Only a strained wheeze sounded out. And the effort left him winded, dizzy-</p><p>Sergio pressed his hand onto the edge of the boat. He dragged himself upwards, and arms flailing, cried out again: “Here!”</p><p>He shouted, more likely roared, out HELP in every language he knew, the wires of his mind crossing and tangling as he configured every part of himself into this desperate bid to live, to save his brother’s life and everything else ahead. </p><p>He had said they were escaping the ocean. And Sergio never failed. </p><p>Voice again giving out, he felt himself fall back, collapsing onto wood as the sun faded in and out of his vision, Andrés’ weight still on his arm, the word “help” still on his scorched tongue.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>Sergio had never cared much for flavor. But at the moment, everything and anything simply tasted wonderful, water most of all. Once the initial nausea passed, he had gorged himself on apples and bottled water, and whatever else the crew had been kind enough to provide. The ache on his skull had dulled significantly thanks to the painkillers and a quick look by the ship’s medic (though he was quite sure that man was not a real doctor)</p><p>He’d spent a day on a cot in what he presumed was sickbay, too weak to rise or speak, an IV pressed into his veins. He had hated IV bags in his youth, but he welcomed it then. Addled with drugs and fatigue, his brain had been unable to operate until the following day. So when the crew asked him about his circumstances, he ended up blurting out some story about a shark attack and a tropical storm. He was a professor on a research mission and Andrés was his colleague. It was true enough.</p><p>He’d found Andrés in the cot beside him, evidently in worse condition and likely appearing as ill as he felt. Andrés opened his eyes a day later, and as Sergio expected, was unable to speak or do much save tug on the IV hooked to him. He lacked the wit to complain about their accommodations, as he normally would on a given day.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Sergio told him, squeezing his hand, “we’re alive.”</p><p>Shaky fingers squeezed back. Andrés had tried to smile, but it came out closer to a grimace. </p><p><em> “You’re okay?” </em> he mouthed.</p><p>The question made Sergio want to smack him again, but his anger was eclipsed by his relief. He smiled instead, a mirror of the shine in Andrés’ hooded gaze.</p><p>In the morning, a harbor came into view. And Sergio stood on deck, a blanket around his shoulders as he admired the dawn. Leaning against him, Andrés anchored his weight between Sergio and the IV stand holding him up. </p><p>“It’s as I said,” Andrés mused, breath uneven above his grin, a familiar sight Sergio wholly welcomed, “the light represents rebirth, untouchable and crisp. Call it a hint of respite from the dark. Most men spend their lives chasing it when in reality, they’re running from it.”</p><p>“Can’t you just watch the sunrise in peace?” Sergio replied, “talking to you is tiring.”</p><p>He heard Andrés chuckle and for a moment, Sergio remembered the fear he’d felt. He’d been afraid he would never hear it again. He let the sound wash over him then, a reminder that Andrés was still here, and allowed a laugh to escape his own throat.</p><p>“You wound me, hermanito. I was imparting wisdom.” </p><p>When Sergio rolled his eyes, Andrés laughed again.</p><p>“If the light comes to you, Sergio, don’t run from it. Hold out a hand and grasp it.” He sounded serious then, a grave warning to his tone. “Everything else, leave to the dark.”</p><p>As if he was speaking of storms to come. But Sergio did not want to think of such things then. He looked to Andrés, met his smile, and said of the distant town, “We should go for a drink. What do you think?”</p><p>Andrés ruffled Sergio’s hair, his voice again light, “A wonderful idea.”</p><p>They looked back to the harbor, dawn fast approaching.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! I hope that somehow managed to make sense :'D and if you happened to enjoy this, kudos&amp;comments are always welcome!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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